


kind of into it

by a financial diuretic (Shame_Account)



Series: i've seen 2 whole episodes of Suits don't ask me how lawyering works [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 2 subs taking turns playing dom tbh, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bladder Control, Desperation Play, Dom/sub, Forgetting to eat, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Era, Omorashi, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, Watersports, Wetting, and Washington realizing he kind of likes to switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shame_Account/pseuds/a%20financial%20diuretic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2nd fill for a prompt on the ham-kink dreamwidth kink meme.</p><p>Alex has a bad habit of holding it <i>almost</i> too long.</p><p>George notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kind of into it

**Author's Note:**

> No archive warnings apply but please read all the tags.
> 
> [ **Prompt:**](http://ham-kink.dreamwidth.org/937.html?thread=4265#cmt4265)
> 
> Hamilton frequently holds his bladder almost to the point of having an accident (either because he just ignores his bodily needs or because he likes to compete with himself to see how long he can hold it). Someone notices and desperation-play ensues, whether sexual or not is up to you.
> 
> I was picturing the other person as Laurens, Washington, or Jefferson, but I'm happy with anyone. 
> 
> +1 If the other person tells him he's being a good boy the longer he holds it. 
> 
> +10000 if hurt/comfort ensues after he actually wets himself.
> 
> (ETA: changed the content rating from Mature to Explicit, I'm unsure of where the lines are drawn but better safe than sorry i guess?)

The problem with this roleplay stuff is that they both kind of want to be the submissive one, like, ninety percent of the time.  
  
Alex's brain is a non-stop whirlwind and he craves the simplicity of just Doing What He's Told, and George spends all day every day telling people what to do and weighing his decisions against the potential impact on the lives of - far too many people, and maybe sometimes he'd just like to kick back, relax, and let someone he trusts blindfold him, bind his wrists, and order him to stop thinking about work.  
  
So they take turns.  
  
They're both pretty good at playing the dominant part, according to one another's testimonies, which they each hesitantly take at face value. Alex is especially convincing in the frayed-temper, short-fused snapping and growling roles, and George has witnessed Alex's reactions to his own attempts often enough to believe his descriptions of what his "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed" voice (Alex's words, not his) apparently does to him.  
  
This is not the kind of arrangement George has ever expected to be in. Things are so far beyond what he used to understand his comfort zone to be, the surreality of it all has become a bonus, keeping any sort of panic at bay. He reminds himself daily that he is _Alex's boss_ , checks in with himself to make sure he's still keeping this inherent power imbalance in mind and watching Alex for any signs of Trouble.  
  
Alex just doesn't seem to care.  
  
He calls him _sir_ at work without so much as a twitch, follows disagreeable instructions reluctantly, argumentatively, and, on some occasions, not at all, and then comes home eager to be ordered or punished or rewarded but just as willing (upon request) to pin George down and hiss "What the _fuck_ were you thinking on that conference call?"  
  
The watersports thing is new, and the only kink George has ever seen him _blush_ about.  
  
It started innocently enough, except it - really, really didn't.  
  
They were watching a movie. Or at least, they were sitting together, working on their laptops while a movie played on the tv. It was late. Alex had suddenly yelped, " _Shit_ , shit shit _fuck_ -" and leapt to his feet, practically threw his laptop into a chair and sprinted for the bathroom.  
  
And everything was fine when he came back, except. Except that his face was beet red and his hands were shaking, and except that George's mind had jumped alarmingly quickly from _is he okay_ to _well he's not throwing up_ to _now that I think about it I don't think he's gone all day_ to _he does that a lot, doesn't he_ to _I wonder if he ever doesn't make it_ and he was maybe a little more. Preoccupied. By that last point, than he would have expected of himself.  
  
But Alex seemed very much not in the mood for that kind of preoccupation, so George just raised an eyebrow at him. "You good?"  
  
"Yeah," Alex muttered, picked up his laptop and threw himself back into work.  
  
And that was the end of that.  
  
Until it happened again.  
  
"Did the office bathroom mortally offend you and I somehow missed this news?" George asked, aiming for casual, when Alex returned to the dining room.  
  
Alex shrugged. "No."  
  
"So why do that to yourself?"  
  
Alex swallowed, staring down at his plate. "It's, um. It's kind of - kind of a _thing_? But kind of not?"  
  
"A thing?"  
  
"You know, a - it's - I'm kind of. Into it."  
  
Alex blushing and stammering his way through explaining that he was _into_ something was new. George wasn't sure what to make of that, and tried to sound as neutral as possible. "Okay."  
  
"But that's not really - why. Um, I just... I kind of don't notice?"  
  
George blinked. "You don't... notice?"  
  
"I just, I get so busy with - everything, and it's like. You know how I don't eat, sometimes?" George bit the inside of his mouth. Yes, he was very familiar with Alex's tendency to skip breakfast, work through his lunch break, and then look surprised when dinner time rolled around and he was feeling weak and dizzy. They were... working on it. It didn't help that Alex spent half his mornings in his own apartment, without George there to hand him a piece of fruit and block the door until he ate it.  
  
"Yes," he said, diplomatically enough.  
  
Alex cleared his throat. "It's. Kind of like that. I don't not eat on purpose, it just doesn't occur to me. And I don't - intentionally stop myself from using the bathroom. Usually. Um. After I realized I liked it, there've been a couple - I - I've. Tried some stuff."  
  
_This is what we talk about over dinner now apparently_ , George thought, but what he said was: "Would you like to incorporate it into - anything?"  
  
And Alex's breath actually, audibly _hitched_.  
  
And that was the beginning of that.  
  
So now, here they are.  
  
It crosses into a strange sort of territory, because they don't - they don't _do things_ , at _work_ , and Alex refraining from bathroom usage for later desperation play purposes probably counts as _doing things_. George thinks they would probably have to draw a line here if not for the fact that Alex has basically said he holds it all day regardless.  
  
("Not in court," Alex assures him, during what is somehow one of their most awkward kink negotiations to date. Alex's nerves throw George off, and George's concern makes Alex more nervous. "I don't, um. I _know_ I don't notice, so there are certain things that - certain situations where I - make myself check in, you know? Like. Okay, case is about to start, use the bathroom, Alex; long meeting scheduled at 3 today, use the _bathroom_ , Alex; time to go to bed, use the  _fucking bathroom, Alex_."  
  
"...You're embarrassed."  
  
Alex shrugs, staring resolutely down at the floor. "I don't - I don't _like_ that I don't notice.")  
  
Their adventures with this particular kink are scattered. Alex is skittish about it, walking some kind of tightrope between eagerness and mortification. Most iterations end one of two ways: George gives permission and Alex darts to the bathroom and barely makes it, or George gives permission and Alex darts to the bathroom and throws himself into the shower.  
  
The shower incidents in particular seem to tip the scale towards mortification.  
  
George always follows him to the bathroom. On the occasions Alex manages to use the toilet, things are - pretty straightforward, from there.  
  
On the occasions he doesn't, George calmly undresses and follows him into the shower, turns on the water and holds him while he calms down under the spray. "This does not count," he says, firmly, while Alex shakes and gasps for breath. "It's not an accident when we're doing this on purpose, and you did so good, Alex, you did _so_ good, you're such a good boy."  
  
("I'm terrified," Alex admits, and then looks annoyed with himself. "That one day it's - really gonna fuck me over. If I ever - if anything ever happened in public, I would die. I would _die_. I would _literally die_."  
  
"We don't have to do this."  
  
"This isn't public.")  
  
He always does make it _to_ the shower, but they put down towels anyway, just in case. Possibly too many towels. George finds the sheer number of them just  _slightly_ excessive, but it makes Alex more comfortable, so he doesn't protest.  
  
Currently Alex is sitting beside him on about six of them, thick beach towels all layered over each other, on the couch. He's got his laptop and is typing erratically, legs shaking, teeth chattering.  
  
"Please, sir," he says, for the fifth time.  
  
"You can go when you've finished your work, Hamilton," George says, and - okay, the dom thing, he always kind of feels ridiculous when he puts on The Voice, but. In these situations, he maybe doesn't notice the ridiculousness as much. He is - getting increasingly more and more into this, into this one specific aspect of control over Alexander.  
  
Alex inhales sharply. "Can I - Can I put my laptop down," he pleads, voice cracking.  
  
"Of course," George says, and pauses while Alex sets his computer on the coffee table, safely out of harm's way. "But now your work's not going to get done at all, is it?"  
  
Alex _whines_ , high in his throat, and _oh_. "Please - Mr. Washington - _please_ , sir, I can't -"  
  
"You can," George says, calmly. Outwardly calmly. Fuck. "And you will. Until I decide otherwise."  
  
"Please - please..." He's not even sure Alex knows he's saying the word now. He's hunched over himself, whispering it over and over again. "Please please  _please please I can't_ -"  
  
"But you're doing so well," George says mildly, the same tone of voice he'd use to praise a well-crafted opening statement. "You're being such a good boy for me, Alexander, and I know you want to keep that up."  
  
"I - I - ssay it - again? Please?"  
  
"You're a good boy," George repeats, voice dropping lower now. "You're _such_ a good boy, Alexander, doing such a good job holding it for me. I know you can keep it up."  
  
"I c- I can't, I ca- I _can't_ , please - please, sir -"  
  
"You're going to," George growls, and Alex shivers: an order. "Because if you piss yourself on this couch, Hamilton, it's not going to end well for you. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
" _Fuck_!" Alex suddenly sits bolt upright, eyes wide. "Red light, red light, please tell me I can go!"  
  
"You can go!" George says instantly, terrified. Alex - Alex does not safeword often.  
  
He's momentarily surprised when Alex doesn't make his usual run for the bathroom, and then he realizes why. And then he tells various parts of his brain and body to _shut up, right now_ , because Alex is - fuck, Alex is _crying_.  
  
"You did good," George says, softly, not allowing the panic to come through in his voice. He runs a hand through Alex's hair, then down his back, and Alex shudders. "You did so good, Alex, hey-"  
  
"I did _not_ \- do _good_ ," Alex snaps, voice muffled by his hands. "I pissed on your fucking couch, I am - _still pissing_ on your _fucking couch_."  
  
"You're pissing on a mountain of towels," George points out, keeping his eyes trained resolutely on what he can see of Alex's face. "Towels we put on the couch for the express purpose of being pissed on."  
  
"It's not supposed to actually _happen_ ," Alex says miserably. "That's like - you know, you get a surge protector, you're still not _happy_ about a fuckin' lightning strike."  
  
"You did _fine_ ," George says firmly, opting not to comment on the somewhat overdramatic choice of comparison. "I should have let you go sooner. I'm not - completely in tune with your limits on this yet."  
  
"Wasn't your fault," Alex mutters. His breath is still hitching, still coming in little gasps that border on sobs, but he seems more _annoyed_ than anything else. "This is not," he adds, " _real_ crying, okay, so don't freak out. You didn't do anything wrong and I'm not - _upset_ upset, I'm just -"  
  
"Pissed?" George suggests, before he can stop himself, and Alex chokes on a laugh.  
  
"Fuck - _fuck you_ , yes, that's exactly it."  
  
"You safeworded," George says, because they are going to have to talk about it, and Alex will put it off forever if he lets him.  
  
"...Yeah." Alex sighs, or tries to. It's staccato and shaky, and George cautiously begins rubbing one hand in circles between his shoulder blades. "It wasn't - It wasn't, like. I feel like I safeword about the weirdest shit, have you noticed that?"  
  
"No."  
  
Alex continues like he hasn't heard him. "It's all - all headspace stuff, never - never that I can't take something, physically, what's up with that?"  
  
" _Headspace stuff_ ," George says, trying his best to pronounce italics, "is pretty important, Alex."  
  
"Right," Alex says, after a worrying beat of silence, and he finally lowers his hands from his face. "Right."  
  
They sit there for a while, not talking. George gives him the time to collect himself, get his breathing under control.  
  
"Do you know what happened?" he prompts, gently, when Alex has mostly stopped trembling.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Can you tell me?"  
  
Alex shuts his eyes.  
  
"You can tell me later," George says hurriedly. "If you can't right now."  
  
But Alex shakes his head. "It's, um. I can. I just. _Ugh_. It's probably - probably an important thing to articulate but I'm gonna fuckin' hate saying it out loud, give me a second to - brace myself."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Alex takes a deep breath, looks up at the ceiling, blushes crimson, and says, "I could tell I was about to lose it and I realized I couldn't handle it being against your orders. I couldn't - I couldn't deal with - disappointing you."  
  
"You didn't," George assures him. He thinks they're probably far enough along towards normal conversation at this point that any further usage of phrases like _good boy_ or _you did so good_ would just be - uncomfortable. Incredibly, unbelievably uncomfortable. "You never do, you never could."  
  
Alex still won't look at him, but he laughs. "That sounds like a challenge."  
  
"Everything sounds like a challenge to you."  
  
"True."  
  
"Are you - okay?"  
  
Alex shrugs, switches his gaze to the floor. "Does it ever occur to you that we're fucking _lawyers_? That you run a fucking law firm and I defend innocent people in court - on a good day, but just let me have this - and we do all this important shit that can make or break the firm, make or break people's entire lives, and then we come home and do _this_?"  
  
"The thought has crossed my mind," George says wryly. "Is this you finally freaking out about sleeping with your boss?"  
  
Alex waves a hand dismissively. "No, I already did that, I just hid it much better than you hid freaking out about sleeping with your employee. This is me periodically wondering what the fuck I'm doing with my life."  
  
"Important shit," George says pointedly. "And things like this. To unwind from all the important shit."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"And showers. You take showers. Which might be a good thing to do right now. I'll take care of the towels."  
  
"Um," says Alex, and takes another deep breath. "So, the thing is. I'm - okay, honestly okay, really okay, still kind of embarrassed but not freaking out anymore. And the other thing is, I - uh, stopped. I still - I still have to go. Like, a lot. And I think - I think, since these towels are already wet, and my clothes are already fucked, I might as well do that right here. And I _think_ ," and here he finally looks up, looks George very deliberately in the eye, and slowly, slowly lets his legs spread -  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but I think you really, _really_ want to watch."  
  
What George thinks is:

 _We are definitely having a discussion about the fact that I didn't notice him freaking out about sleeping with his boss._  
  
What George says is:  
  
"Let go, Alexander. _Right now_."

**Author's Note:**

> well this was it, this was the kink meme fill that finally made me create this frickin account
> 
> i hope you enjoyed, there will probably be more in a similar vein

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for "kind of into it"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066870) by [grossalien (Propriety_is_not_a_priority)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Propriety_is_not_a_priority/pseuds/grossalien)




End file.
